


You Are the One When I Watch Myself

by strangestorys



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Christmas, Dreams, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Memory Palace, Mild Gore, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Finale, Season/Series 03, Shower Sex, Spooning, Voyeurism, Wendigo, being angsty on boats, handjobs, hannibal cries during sex and no one is surprised, prison hannibal, scar love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:59:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5513126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangestorys/pseuds/strangestorys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of three vignettes. Will and Hannibal each deal with their feelings for each other over the course of three Christmases spent together and apart. Occurs both during canon events in Season 3 and after The Wrath of the Lamb.</p><p><i>And always, the dead eyes of the Wendigo in his dreams, </i>seeing him<i>, seeing the mangled and beautiful parts of him, seeing his holy light shine through his scars and then needing to destroy it again.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pangaea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pangaea/gifts).



> Written as a Hannigram Holiday Exchange gift for Pangaea, who requested the Wendigo and canon Hannigram. Pangaea, you’re one of my absolute favorite artists in fandom, and it was an honor to be able to write for you! In writing this, I took a lot of inspiration from your art: both the themes you deal with and the general feeling your pieces invoke - holiness and blood and devastating love. I hope you enjoy, bb! <3

**I.**

_...while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time._

_― Allen Ginsberg, Howl_

Will gripped harder around the knife in his hand, blood staining his hands, wrists, forearms, the hems of his rolled shirtsleeves. He had the momentary thought that he’d need to treat the shirt with peroxide before the stain set, but before he could think too deeply on it, the beast lunged at him, knocking him to the ground.

The wind was pushed from his lungs as he landed hard on his back, and he was suddenly gasping through his aching chest. For a fast second, he caught the beast’s black eyes, saw their intelligence and cruelty and mercy, and then its head was down and it was goring at his belly with its great horns, leaving deep puncture wounds.

Will counted off on his fingers the organs he knew he’d lost: first the liver, then the colon, then deeper down underneath, the kidneys. The animal was ruthless, and it kept going until Will’s torso was a mangled mass of flesh.

There was pain, but it wasn’t the sharp and blinding kind – it was warm and filling, and it made his body ache and throb in waves. It was easy to slip into it and let it take him. Colors shot behind his eyes in streaks, and he realized he was keening, his body trying to expel the pain in bursts of noise.

He forced himself to focus, to close his throat and open his eyes and find his foe, who was now standing to admire its handiwork.

Blood was sluicing down the creature’s horns, pooling in thick spills around its feet. As Will panted and moaned below, it tilted its great, bloodied head to regard him with curiosity before sliding towards the ocean, dripping Will’s blood and flesh until it was baptized clean. Soon the whole beast melted away, leaving the stars to shine on a bloodblack slick through the tide.

 

Will woke up. He felt wolfen and unmoored.

He was also hard as a rock.

He clutched at his belly, feeling ghosts of the pain from his dream, made knowable by Hannibal’s knife. As he regained his bearings, he realized he was lying face-up on the deck of the _Nola_ , hadn’t even been able to make it to the cabin’s small bunk before falling asleep this time.

Since the incident in Hannibal’s kitchen, Will’s dreams hadn’t left him alone for a single full night. The stay in the hospital had been the worst, remnants of anesthetic in his bloodstream giving all his sleep a cold, metallic feel. Waking up from those drugged dreams was like sliding down a rough gravel road, opening and burning his skin as he clawed at consciousness.

Now his sleep was tinny, fragile. He felt that he could bend it and break it, but he still couldn’t keep it at bay for long. Not with the ocean lulling against the sides of the boat, rocking him back and forth, bringing him to a baby-state. He could keep himself awake and busy for a few hours at a time, checking the instruments and adjusting the sails, maintaining his course. But always the sleep would return, bringing with it the beast.

He’d sleep for half an hour at one in the morning, huddling afterwards in a blanket on deck and drinking hot lemon water until the horizon closed in and he felt safe again. He’d sleep again for three hours at eleven in the morning, images of hot blood gushing into his mouth and nose waking him again by two in the afternoon. He’d wake up, check the sails, and force down a can of soup, but find his eyes slipping closed into vivid hallucination by seven in the evening. And on and on, every day massing into a blur of lush water beckoning him into vast nightmares.

And always, the dead eyes of the Wendigo in his dreams, _seeing him_ , seeing the mangled and beautiful parts of him, seeing his holy light shine through his scars and then needing to destroy it again.

 

Today, after the dream of being gored had been washed out of his mouth by black coffee and his erection willed away with a splash of cold water over his face, Will changed out of his sweatpants and into jeans and a flannel shirt, pulling a warm workman’s jacket around himself to ward off the wind. He made himself a plate of toast and sat at the small galley kitchen, checking his maps and instruments.

As he ran through his star charts, he caught sight of the date: December 25. Christmas Day, and he was spending it alone in the middle of the ocean, chased by his own demons straight into the arms of the man who had created the worst of them. According to his neatly penned journals, today also marked the halfway point of his journey, and he’d make land on the south shore of Sicily in about fifteen days.

Will felt himself fill with a different sort of anxiety at this realization. His focus up until this point had been to escape that kitchen, to escape Jack and Alana, to jettison Abigail’s shade. No progress on that last front, he thought wryly, but then again, no reason to deny himself the company now. He summoned her, let himself sit in the cocoon of silence beside her, listening to her soft breaths. Her light eyes studied him with worry.

“Let yourself have this, Will.”

He turned his head to glance between her eyes, seeing only his own reflected in them.

“What?”

“Stop running. Let yourself be. Here. He’s not going anywhere.”

“No. He’s not. But I am.”

“And where is that, Will? Where are you going?”

“I’m going... away, Abigail. But I’m also going back.”

“You’re not going back, Will. You can’t go back to something that’s already in you. Hannibal may be on another continent, _apparently_ accessible only by a long and overdramatic sea voyage, but you already have him here.” At this, she put her hand over the raised pink scar on his belly, moving it up the cage of his ribs to his steady heartbeat. “You’ve always had him here, and you know it.”

Will sighed then, and dropped the eye contact, letting his tensed shoulders relax.

He knew that Hannibal’s beast, _his love_ , still lived in him, but since the kitchen, it had shuddered and tucked its tail, chased by something more massive and known than itself.

But wasn’t Will’s own beast the thing that had brought down Hannibal’s great and heaving shade? Their matched and equally monstrous hearts creating that violence between them, that blood spilling out onto Hannibal’s kitchen floor?

Suddenly, with Abigail there beside him, Will knew. He knew the only way to close the animal’s dead eyes to himself was to see back, to finally get inside Hannibal and _know him_ , to make it so that Hannibal couldn’t run any more than he could. To feel his own hand close around Hannibal’s beating heart and squeeze along with its rhythm.

“Do you really think you’re not already there, Will? Do you think you haven’t been inside him for years? Since the beginning of time?”

“I think... I think we’ve never been apart. I think we created the Big Bang and we have been the horsemen of the Apocalypse. I can’t run from or towards that, I can only exist and let it happen.”

“Then let it happen.” Abigail gave his cheek a small, sad stroke with her thumb. “Merry Christmas, Will.”

 

That night in Will’s dreams, he grew horns and locked them with Hannibal’s, neither side budging. The next night found Will’s beast cleaning blood off his own horns, Hannibal’s gasping Wendigo slowly spilling from its jugular into the ocean.

And on and on, every night after that, Will regained more and more control of his sleep until he reached land. Until he saw the gift Hannibal had left him in the chapel, and he truly knew that his own beast had the same horns as Hannibal’s, had taken slow bites of his heart until Hannibal was entirely subsumed by Will.


	2. The Prison

**II.**

_…there is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible—magic to make the sanest man go mad._

_― Homer, The Iliad  
_

In the late afternoon at the Baltimore State Hospital, Hannibal sat at his work table, hovering intently over a new drawing, fresh paper yet unmarked.

He drew his pencil over the paper by rote, allowing his hand to trace familiar patterns of its own accord. His mind wandered, thinking of each part of Will in turn: the wispy curls at the base of his neck; the small bend in his nose; the bottom lip, bitten pink in concentration; the sparse chest hair and pert rosy nipples that Hannibal had glanced when changing Will's clothes after the incident at Mason's farm; the plush belly marked through with a knotted, pearly scar; the clean, firm expanse of thigh leading down from his high, round bottom; the small inward indentations of his Achilles' tendon and the topography of his ankle bones.

Will was laid in his bed in his bungalow in Wolf Trap, his hair breaking the morning sun coming through the windows into a halo of golden light. Hannibal sat facing him in one of the scattered armchairs, watching intently and guiding Will as he stroked his hand across his chest, catching at his nipple.

“How does that feel, Will?”

“ _ngh_... good... it’s good...”

Will lay on top of the sheets, completely nude, his half-hard cock jerking and beginning to fill more as Hannibal watched. His eyes were shut, and he was making the most beautiful choked gasping noises, just short of letting himself fully vocalize his pleasure.

“Let me hear you, Will.”

Will whimpered at that, releasing a high noise from just under his throat.

“Good. You’re so beautiful like this, Will. Have I ever told you that?”

Will didn’t say anything, just nodded his head and moved onto the other nipple. Hannibal took the opportunity to admire the long, white scar that marred the raised plane of his belly. The thin trail of hair leading down from Will’s chest halted completely there, only to pick back up again right underneath. He knew the scar would be numb to the touch, that Will would feel a tickling sensation when he dragged his finger down it that would make him squirm. Hannibal felt his breathing pick up a little at the thought.

“Bring your hand now to your stomach, Will.”

Will did, and a small shudder went through his body as his fingers passed over the scar. He gave the line a smooth pass from one side to the other, pushing down lightly and moaning as he felt the pressure from under the skin.

“Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“It’s... it’s light, like a touch in a dream. But it’s tender, too. Like if I pushed too hard I could spill out. It feels...nghh...it feels like you’re beneath the skin, massaging it from the inside.”

Hannibal hmm’d in agreement and pleasure.

Will moved on to lightly trace his navel, rubbing and massaging at the softness of his lower belly until Hannibal instructed him to continue. He’d reached full hardness now, and Hannibal delighted in watching his delicate pink cockhead bob up against the hand massaging his belly. Will was getting a little antsy by now, obviously wanting to wrap his hand around his cock, but continuing to obey Hannibal, moving his hands only where he was allowed.

“Will?”

Will’s head was back, eyes still closed tightly, mouth open. He was obviously very deep inside his own mind, but not nearly close enough to the edge for Hannibal to let him off easily.

“Will, you’re doing a lovely job. I’d like you to move your hands lower now.”

Will moaned in relief, and quickly moved to grip his cock.

“...ah, ah! No, not quite yet, Will. I want you to run your hands down your thighs.”

Will finally opened his eyes to catch Hannibal’s, giving a petulant whine and sticking out his bottom lip to pout a little. Hannibal just smiled back at him, eyes crinkling around the corners, and Will obeyed.

“Tense your quadriceps muscle, Will. Feel the motion under the skin.”

Will did, a small ripple just visible along his thigh.

“Feel the strength in your thighs, Will. Feel your power, and the meat that sustains you.”

Will massaged the tops of his thighs in small circles, thumbs digging in around the lines of muscle.

“Good, Will. Know yourself. Know every part of you. What do you feel?”

“I feel strong. And I feel separable. I feel like every part of me is distinct, ready to come apart. I feel my skin and the fat beneath, and the lines of muscle under that. I feel like I could destroy myself, and like I could destroy anything.”

“You are a honed instrument, Will. Recognize that sharpness.”

Will’s hands moved toward his inner thigh, stroking the delicate skin there lightly, thumbs moving in tight, gentle circles. Precum was beginning to drip onto his belly, matting the dark hair under his navel. Hannibal had the intense urge to lick those mingled flavors off and hold them in his mouth, but remained patiently in his seat, eager to watch the show. Eager to give this experience to Will.

“Good, Will. Press in, feel that the steel of you is also velveteen, to be protected. Know how precious you are.”

Will let out a small catch of air from his throat, his arousal and frustration palpable from Hannibal’s viewpoint, but continued his slow, measured massage of his inner thighs.

“You’ve done so well for me today, Will. How are you feeling?”

“I feel like I want to jerk off,” Will replied with a wry smirk. “But I also feel weighty and grounded. I feel protected in your commands, and steady in my body. I feel like my flesh is my own and it’s yours. Like we are both keeping me safe.”

“Yes, Will. You’re always safe here, with me and with you. Please move your hand up now. Stroke the small length of skin behind your sack.”

Will did so, eagerly. His face scrunched up with pleasure as he pressed on himself there, setting a slow rhythm of short strokes. Soon, he was panting, hair fanned back against the pillowcase. A beautiful and godly mess.

“Wonderful. Now up, take your testicles in hand, Will.”

Will moaned as he gently took hold of his balls, rolling them between his fingers and breathing heavily. His cock was now a lovely reddish color, and was obviously becoming quite uncomfortably hard.

“Good. Every part of you deserves this same attention, Will. Be soft with yourself, and reverent. Remember that you are holy at every turn. You may touch your cock now. You’ve earned that.”

Will mumbled something that might have been an “ _oh thank god_ ” and brought his hand up to wrap around the base of his cock, gripping it firmly and stroking upwards. At the top, he wrapped his hand around the head and let out a sharp, pained keen before moving down again

Hannibal committed Will’s face at this moment to memory, filing it away near Bernini’s _Ecstasy of Saint Teresa_ in his mind.

Will was desperate and close, balls drawing up high and tight to his groin, but he retained a slow and steady pace, waiting for Hannibal’s lead to finish himself off. His closed eyes winced briefly in bliss on every downstroke, as he passed his palm over the head, and he roughly groaned in time with his strokes, voice cracking with strain.

“Beautiful, Will. Bring your other hand up, give your sack attention again. Stroke the skin behind. Let yourself feel all that you can.”

Will obeyed, both hands occupied and methodical in their attention. Hannibal was impressed, but not surprised, at Will’s restraint. His breathing and the steady pulsing of precum from his cock told Hannibal that Will urgently needed to come, but he held off, needing Hannibal’s guidance more than the relief of orgasm.

“You’re so close, Will, you’re doing a wonderful job. Are you ready to come for me?”

“ _Yes_! Please, Hannibal...” Will’s voice came out in a high whine as his right hand sped up, the left now pressing insistently against his perineum. He was overwhelmed with sensation, the nerves over his entire body alight with his previous attentions.

“Let me see you come, Will.”

A couple more fast, firm strokes, and Will cried out, cock jerking in his hand and spilling hot streams of cum up his belly. His abdomen and thighs tensed, curving his body tightly with the force of his orgasm. It seemed to go on forever, his body finally settling as the last pulse of cum leaked out. As he came back to himself, he opened his eyes and looked over at Hannibal beatifically, calmly, _seeing_ _him_. He breathed out a whispered thanks, and Hannibal pressed the sound of it into his mind for posterity.

Hannibal stood from his seat and leaned over to kiss Will gently on the forehead, almost making contact, when...

 

 

"...Hannibal? Hannibal?"

Awoken from his reverie by the firm voice of the orderly, Hannibal snapped to attention, looking up at his intruder.

"Your mail is here. Took me a good minute to get your attention too, I don't know where it is you go to in there..."

Hannibal hmm’d at that, maintaining a blank and uninterested face that belied the roaring of blood behind his ears.

"Thank you, Denise. Will there be anything else today?"

"Not until dinner. Enjoy your afternoon, Hannibal."

"And you as well."

After she left, he took a deep centering breath, then stood and went to retrieve the small bundle of cards and letters he had become accustomed to in the afternoons. The usual set of formal letters from PhD students at Midwestern state universities looking for an interview that would set their thesis apart, a couple of envelopes from publishers hoping for an opinion piece to boost their next issue's sales, and one store-bought greeting card in a bright red envelope. No return address. That was new.

He opened the envelope right away, finding inside a generic white card reading "Season's Greetings" in large red and green letters. Inside was a note written in small, meticulous handwriting: "Merry Christmas, Dr. Lecter. I hope that the New Year brings you closer to Becoming. Yours, An Avid Fan."

The writing was from a hand he didn’t recognize, neither from his incarcerated correspondence, nor from his professional life in Baltimore. He had the feeling he'd be hearing from this stranger again at some point, and quickly went over to his bookshelf to slip the card between the pages of Volume 3 of Livy's _History of Rome_ for safekeeping.

When he returned to his work desk and looked down at his drawing paper, Hannibal saw, instead of the ecstatic vision of Will he’d conjured, the image of a monstrous stag set in graphite, nostrils flared and foaming.

The beast stood on a precipice, rocks at its feet tumbling into the sea. Hannibal stared into its eyes for a long series of minutes, inhaling deeply and recalling the smells of drug store cologne and spent motor oil.

Hannibal then added the stag to his stack of work and moved onto a fresh sheet of paper, imagining now the interior of the Palazzo Vecchio and its many halls. He tucked the ghost of Will into a safe space in his mind for the time being. The low hum of the fluorescent lights and the murmur of distant cells continued around him unabated, but he was in Florence, and he couldn’t hear them.


	3. The Cabin

**III.**

_...he met Herakles and the kingdoms of his life all shifted down a few notches. They were two superior eels at the bottom of the tank and they recognized each other like italics._

_― Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red_

Will ran his hand under the showerhead, testing the temperature before slipping under. Warm, but not yet scalding. Not the way he’d needed it for years before, not the burning scouring heat that he’d needed to ground himself. Now warm was just fine, warm kept him comfortable, warm was familiar.

Speaking of familiar, he felt Hannibal step in behind him, closing the glass door. He felt the older man press up against him, furred chest on his back, nose in his hair, inhaling deeply. Stabilizing him.

“May I join you?” Hannibal asked, though he showed no sign of being willing to leave should Will refuse him, already wrapping his arms around Will and holding him tightly.

“You may,” said Will, sighing and leaning back into the embrace. “You were magnificent tonight.”

“ _We_ were magnificent tonight, Will.” Hannibal mouthed at the specks of blood still staining Will’s neck, tongue laving over the sensitive skin at the join of his shoulder. Will shuddered and exposed his neck further, inviting Hannibal to continue.

“The way you worked with such focus, Hannibal. I’ve never seen anything like that, it was beyond how I’d imagined it.” He moved his hand up to fist in Hannibal’s blood-matted hair, half expecting his fingers to find ebony antlers.

They were bestial together, alive with each other and with the kill.

Will had planned the whole event as a gift of sorts for Hannibal. For both of them. Their life in Patagonia since the fall had been calm and tender, and they spent most nights with Will curled around Hannibal’s back, leeching his body heat and giving Hannibal a source of grounding pressure to fall back into while his wounds healed. They became used to the other’s smell and feel, Will unable to sleep now without the soft and sturdy press of Hannibal’s torso against him, the scent of Hannibal’s silvering hair filling his nose.

In sleep, Hannibal was no longer the black and slithering beast that had haunted Will’s dreams for so many years, but a man, small and adrift, needing his care. Needing him, and offering only himself in return. Will could no more live without Hannibal by his side than Hannibal could without Will.

During their journey south, Will had come to terms with and eventually initiated their sexual relationship, Hannibal following his lead zealously like a touch-starved animal. There really wasn’t another choice at this point, was there? They already lived inside each other in mind, had gotten at each other’s slippery insides by nonconventional means. It was only a matter of time before they joined each other in pleasure.

Will knew that Hannibal had desired this for quite a long time, but until Will’s initial advance, Hannibal had been polite and content with their spooning at night, nestling himself back into Will’s arms and excusing himself in the morning to take care of his occasional arousal in private.

Finally, one night in bed at a hostel outside of Neuquén, Will had let his curiosity get the best of him and slid his hands over the front of Hannibal’s pajama pants, feeling him fill and harden at Will’s touch. He’d jerked him off quickly and smoothly, unsurprised to find himself becoming aroused as well at the sound of Hannibal’s desperate gasps. After he’d come, Hannibal had turned around with tears in his eyes to study Will’s face in awe. In response, Will closed the gap between them and kissed him deeply as he fisted his own cock to completion. After that, their exploration of each other’s bodies became a constant part of the night, Hannibal always enthusiastic, yet deferential, allowing Will to do whatever he pleased, often preferring to watch rather than take command.

They were intimate, and it was easy, but they both knew there had been a piece missing since their consummation at the cliff all those months ago. They both knew the beast was still inside of them, and that it would need sating. They were both hungry with it, working their way into each other at night, but crying out at the lack they felt. Fulfilled with each other, but only just enough.

So for their small Christmas celebration that first year, nothing more than a lamb roast and an extra helping of whiskey by the fire, Will handed Hannibal a small wrapped gift. When Hannibal opened it, he found a knife, the blade lithe and cold, obviously crafted for fine dissection work. On looking closely, he noticed a scene carved into the wooden handle, two stags, their antlers locked in struggle, and on the other side, the same stags side by side, at peace.

“I carved it from the tree out back. A token of our time together.”

Hannibal had no words. He just sat staring at the blade, breathing picking up steadily, his fingers working over and over the carved image.

“It’s for us to use together, Hannibal. I’ve done some research into the recent disappearances of sheep around here – turns out there’s a thief who is making life very hard for our neighbors across the way. Sounds awfully rude to me.”

Hannibal turned then and looked straight into his eyes, pupils blown, still speechless.

“What do you say, Hannibal?”

“I... Will. This is...”

“I’d say there’s only one thing to be done about that, isn’t there, Hannibal?”

Hannibal dropped the knife to the ground then, grabbing Will’s face in both hands and kissing him deeply, whimpering with need. His tongue roamed Will’s mouth for a long minute before he pulled back to look Will in the eyes.

Will just smiled back at him, the beast already visible through the cracks in his face.

 

A week of planning had them ready for the kill, and they went about it quickly and cleanly, but mercilessly. They’d ambushed the thief during one of his raids, carving into him swiftly with Hannibal’s new knife, arterial spray staining the white pelts of the flock in bursts of red. Their pressing need for each other, both of them antlered and proud, led them to a deep and brutal fuck over the body, Hannibal finally letting go of his sexual inhibitions with Will and getting so far inside him that Will couldn’t keep purchase on the slippery ground.

Before they returned home sated, their beasts quieted for the time being, Hannibal carved them a trophy, a firm and marbled piece of flank that they could share together on New Year’s Day.

Now, standing with Hannibal behind in him the shower, growing hard again against his hip, Will moaned at the memory of it, Hannibal still mouthing hungrily at the bend of his neck.

“I could be nourished on nothing more than the wildness I saw in your eyes tonight, Will. My ruthless, elegant boy. My stunning boy.”

Hannibal punctuated his sentences with sweet, wet kisses, beginning to rut gently against Will’s backside.

Will used the hand he still had gripped in Hannibal’s hair to pull the larger man away from his back, and he turned around to face him. Hannibal looked wild, hair dripping into his eyes and thinned, watery blood streaming down the hollow of his throat and matting in his chest hair, pooling into his soft navel. Will groaned at the sight and gave Hannibal’s cock a few quick pumps before he reached behind him to grab a washcloth and wet it.

He took his time washing the blood off of Hannibal, giving attention to every muscle, sinew, and jut of bone, rubbing gently over his tender stomach and inner thighs, placing a small kiss just inside his knee. Hannibal stood obediently and took Will’s treatment, staring down at him with love and purring like a big cat the whole while.

When Will was done, he ran the washcloth under the water to rinse it out, a pink spiral flowing out and onwards to the sea.

He turned Hannibal around again and began to rub a generous amount of shampoo into his shaggy silver hair, grown inches past the length that Will had ever seen it in Baltimore. He massaged Hannibal’s head with deft fingers, pressing in small circles until Hannibal moaned out a soft and choked “ _Will_...”

When he felt that he had teased Hannibal enough, he put Hannibal’s head under the tap to rinse his hair, then kissed the back of Hannibal’s neck tenderly and nudged his knee between Hannibal’s legs to spread him just a little. Hannibal made a small, blissed-out noise and obeyed without hesitation, always willing to be moved according to Will’s whims.

Will then took a little of the shampoo to slick his own erection before sliding it between Hannibal’s upper thighs and thrusting. They both groaned at the sensation as Will grabbed onto Hannibal’s soft hips and kneaded them with his thumbs as he began to move. Will’s cock was trailing along the underside of Hannibal’s balls, and Hannibal’s sturdy thighs provided a clamping heat that made Will’s eyes roll back in his head. He thrust with a determined rhythm, alternately kissing messily at the back of Hannibal’s neck and breathing words of encouragement into his ear.

“God, Hannibal, you’re so good to me. You’d let me take you apart over and over again just to put you back together, wouldn’t you? I’ve wanted this for so long, Hannibal. I could never have imagined how beautiful this would be. You’re so good, _we’re_ so good. So perfect together.”

Hannibal, eyes closed and deep in bliss, unable to restrain himself, had moved his hand to his own cock and was now jerking himself off messily, his rhythm stuttering at Will’s words. He seemed to have lost his power of speech, settling for moaning loudly and continuously.

As Will came closer to the edge, his monologue trailed off, and he settled for sucking a thick round bruise onto Hannibal’s shoulder as he continued to thrust into the heat of Hannibal’s thighs. As Will sunk his teeth in, Hannibal came first with a cry, his come streaking the shower wall in several spurts. The noise of it, and the taste of Hannibal on his tongue, set Will off too, waves of pleasure tensing his muscles as he spent himself.

After they both came down, Hannibal turned around to capture Will in a tight embrace, breathing heavily through his nose buried in Will’s hair.

“We’re here, Hannibal. We’re not going anywhere.”

Hannibal didn’t respond except to let out a soft sob and shift Will tighter into his arms. Will burrowed into his broad chest and sighed contentedly.

Will had long ago decided he didn’t care if he was escaping his own life or running into Hannibal’s. Not anymore. This was the life they’d made together, and his dreams were finally quiet, his beast sated.


End file.
